


The Little Faun.

by bloodydiana



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Axl as Lolita, Fluff, M/M, Male Slash, One Shot, Past Relationship(s), Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodydiana/pseuds/bloodydiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then, thrilled by his own behaviour, the little faun [...]" likes to play with his beloved Saul's emotions in order to keep his love all for himself. He embraces all the characteristics a nymphet has to have to be called like that, and many more. He's definetely not that kind of person who we'll leave your mind after you've gotten to know him, especially when you let him open up for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Faun.

Hard to tell if he was aware of the power he had on me. Hard to tell if I was always the only one to notice his silky coppery hair hitting his porcelain skin, which, at the same time, was covered in almost invisible fluff of golden red. His limbs, his joints moved elastically, way too light, as if they were made of nothing. Sometimes, a gaze of the green lakes he had for eyes stared at me with such a sweetness I couldn’t believe possible. Because, you have to know, he was often restless and whimsical, maybe especially when he was with me. I always tried my best, but I didn’t know what he had in his mind or what he wanted from me.  
  
Some other times, in the very moment when all those thoughts used to ran through my mind, he just liked to come to me, slowly walking the room. His clothes began to rest on the floor –lucky them- while I had to bear that pawing voluptuousness of his. His naked body came before my eyes, with cat waves in a Greek movement of muscles and extremely pale pink thighs. He loved to grin, in those moments, maybe because he could see every part of me replying to his. I was blinded by the beauty of some firy vines which delimited and wrapped his loins zone, where his manhood stayed peacefully, for the moment, as if I had to be the only one to suffer up to the point of no return.  
  
Then, thrilled by his own behaviour, the little faun used to like to crawl on the bed, coming to me that way, always with his smirk turning his feminine lips. He used to sit on my lap, facing me, while his long fingertips ran through my body to reach my jeans.  
«What you were thinkin’ about, honey? You’ve been silent all day.» He used to say, adding his typical inquisitiveness to all the rest.  
I didn’t wear any underwear, anyway, so he only needed to unzip to reveal my pitiful state. I chose to say “pitiful”, yes, but I actually felt like in Paradise. It  _was_ pitiful to let him see me that way, but, at a certain point, I didn’t care at all. I  _couldn't_ care at all.  
He looked into my eyes; with the endless sweetness he was able to bring out, he started to kiss me, suddenly turning the kiss into a sucking and biting grip on those lips –my lips- which he said he had always appreciated (although it seemed like he had to vent some dissatisfaction by making them plump and bloody-appearing). In the meanwhile, I took my hands at his hips, caressing them up and down with slowly movements, tightening the hold in order to get me some of those adrenalin shocks. My hands also quickly ran to his butt and, that way, I made him closer to my shivering body. At that point, my head already lied on the freezing headbord of the bed and my crotch was beating between his legs. He obviously could feel how hard my manhood had became, especially because he swayed the lower part of his body and thrusted his own on mine very hard. He laughed of a crystalline but exceptionally deep sound which made an astonishing contrast with the appearance he had during those sweet, sweet times. He, then, moaned too, repeatedly, intensely and again it felt like a strange and always changing sound, different from the one before, particularly made to scratch my ears and my soul. And finally I felt like coming back to life. We can say it was my turn.  
  
Instead of just making him mine, I used to push him to lay on his back, then taking myself upon him. I knew he liked that I would care about the way to treat him. So, when his warm thighs tightened around me, I could finally use my hands to caress the shape of his face, my lips to soften and taste his and my desire to swarm what he wanted me to get.  
He tensed every time as if it was the first, but, luckily, he could trust in my arms to always find an embrace or an handhold, just like we used to do on stage, in our everyday life too. I pressed my forehed against his and breathe his own breath, while thrusting in and thrusting out without any more problem.  
It wasn’t an act of violence or predominance at all. We loved to be with each other like that; especially, we loved to finally find the way to become an actual whole. And I could totally feel that need to be fulfilled.  
Then, I moved my hands from his face to his thighs, getting me an help while sweating on his body all I wanted but couldn’t to say, still followed by his long, wild moans. At a certain point, the power I put in it started to decrease, leaving some room to the deepest and slowest thrusts I could manage to give. They were absolutely the best –and not just for me. His hips lifted up, he wanted more and more, even his voice suddenly weakened. I knew he was totally giving himself to me, probably as lost as me who-knows-where. My mind didn’t respond to me anymore, it just wildly plumbed the depths of many thoughts and images up to the moment they would have flowed in my exhausted lover.  
  
When we finished, we relied on each other both metaphorically and physically, silently waiting for the moment when all that warmness would have gone, leaving the two of us freezing and searching for something which could resemble it between our bodies entwined under the sheets.  
I think I wasn’t always capable to read what was hidden behind his eyes and sometimes that made me afraid and embarrassed, but nothing could replace the wonder that was shown to whom –such as me- knew how to look at him. It was impossible to find someone else like him; wherever and whoever you would look at, whenever you would think to have found some  _traces_ of him, you always would have been disappointed.  
Trust me, I tried.

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is my first english fanfiction (I'm italian, so that you know why you could find some strange form in the sentences or grammatical errors) and, since everyone loves to be complicated, I decided to make it a Nabokov/Lolita inspired writ.  
> But, pay attention, this is not an AU, it's just me writing about Slash remembering some good times in an Humbert Humbert style. In fact, if you have found Axl a little bit "flat" (some adjective I would never place next to him) is just because when Humbert talks about Dolores, she feels very "weightless", such as the nymphet she is (or the faun, since we're talking about Axl).  
> What can I say? I hope you've enjoyed it (and if you did, please, let me know!) and I hope to find the inspiration to share and translate with all of you all the other imageries I keep inside my mind (or my computer).  
> Thank you!


End file.
